The Climber

I trek up the mountain.
Up and up,
Further and further,
deeper and deeper
the snow gets.
Then there's wind
The wind is stronger, blowing faster,
pushing me back; the wind is whipping, the snow is stirring, the air is leaving,
my lungs.

Only in the trees,
do I find ease.
A peaceful respite,
a warmer delight
than the mountain.

But the thicket ends,

I trek up the mountain,
Up and up,
Further and further,
deeper and deeper
the snow gets.

the wind returns and fills my lungs with cold.
The ice and snow whip at my face, the wind reds my cheeks, It burns like the cold fire it is,
the icy breath of the mountain.